The Thing
by nomnomfood
Summary: In Rome, do as the Romans. Well, following that logic, if a child ends up in the colosseum for a sentence of ten years due to her supposedly massacring a town, any girl is bound to get some more-than-violent tendencies. /On the life of a criminal in Reim/
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

Demons and Monsters

Have men in them

But Monsters

Have stone men

* * *

The Thing was monstrous, rising above their heads like a mountain, holding as much power as a storm in either hand. It swung, and the world was set ablaze.

* * *

"Do you repent for your sins?" A pope, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, set his eyes on the Thing who kneeled below him. He offered forgiveness to all who came-for a price. He almost, almost pitied the Thing. It was young, after all, and it was cursed with powers that they could not control. They could not really blame the Thing, but the people of Reim wanted revenge of some sort.

The Thing quivered, and it was so small that Pope Xanthos almost wondered how it was responsible for the massacre of a village two hundred people strong. It looked so weak, so fragile, that he could not imagine the horror even though the tale had been recounted to him numerous times by the few survivors there were. But if the story was true, he had to wonder why Lady Scherazade demanded that he offer the Thing a chance at forgiveness. If the Thing was so frightful, then even he believed that there should be no second chance. If there could be no second chance for the two hundred people dead, then there should not be any second chance for the Thing.

It took a while, but it stuttered out, "I- I-" The Thing could not bring itself to say that it repented. But if it did not repent, it would have no chance. The Thing might have been a monster, but the Thing was also a child. If it did not repent, it would be sent to the colosseum, and it would have no chance, not against the animals that killed thousands, not against the brute force that it could never hope to summon up.

Xanthos felt a surge of pity for the Thing. But a job was a job, and the Thing would not repent. "You are hereby sentenced to the colosseum, in which the only way to end the sentence is to finish ten years of battling, or," he paused, thought of the gleeful faces he had seen, how joyful they were when they were bathed in blood. It was cruel to sentence the Thing to a fate like that, because the ones in the colosseum were more bloodthirsty, more experienced. "Death. Whichever one comes first shall mark the end of your trials of repentance."

Closing it's eyes, the Thing closed in on itself, huddling into an even smaller ball and wrapping the burnt fabric around itself. He waved his hands and four guards came in, with one magician for extra safety. Only when they lifted the Thing up did his heart stop feeling any pity for it. The eyes of the Thing were dry; no tears, not even the slightest traces of red were there. There was no frown, no knot between the eyebrows. This time, it spoke. "It's not my fault," it said, so softly it could barely be heard.

It was swept away before he got an opportunity to answer.

Pope Xanthos slumped down in a golden chair, clutching a red jewel in his hands. "My lady," he said when the humming began. "The Thing did not repent for it's sins. It is being sent over to the colosseum right now." He ran a hand through his hair before leaning the same arm on his leg.

There was complete and utter silence coming from the other side, and for a moment, Xanthos wondered if his connection was not going through. "Xanthos, the Thing does have a name." Her voice was light and airy, but full of force. There was a sharp intake of breath. "But if you do not wish to call it by name, I will oblige you." There was another pause, during with Xanthos shifted around again. "I am not surprised that it did not repent. That was an event that I expected. Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"The Thing did not show any pity, and it said that it was not their fault." Xanthos could not call it by any other name than the Thing because he could not see it being the devil, but it certainly was not a human.

"It showed no pity, did it?" On the other side of the communication crystal, Scheherazade closed her eyes. She saw the creature that Xanthos had named the Thing; saw its power, saw its anger. Perhaps it truly wasn't its fault, and that was why she had demanded for it to have a second chance and repent. Either way, whether it ended up working for her through the colosseum or the church, having the Thing in her employ would undoubtedly be useful. She would not be able to make it stay forever, but for whatever time it was here, on this planet, her power would be used. Reim might as well be the one to use it.

"It did not show any pity," he confirmed. Those eyes, so dark he had almost mistaken them for black, were merciless and unwavering in their conviction.

The sigh from her side was audible, and Xanthos nearly jumped in surprise. The High Priestess did not do actions like those lightly, and for her to sigh so loudly it could be heard over the communicator… "Thank you Xanthos, for cooperating with me. Still, don't think so badly of the Thing. It massacred many, yes, but Reim has killed many more. So maybe, one day, you could forgive it, and say its name so the world could hear." Her voice was tired, so tired, and it was filled with pain. To speak like this to a subordinate was unspeakable, but she could not stop it. It was a bit of an irony, really, and she felt the urge to voice it. "After all, its name is one of the very things you worship."

"Perhaps one day, Lady Scheherazade. It has been a pleasure working with you." The buzzing that he felt through his very veins stopped, and he set the ruby crystal down.

The next day, an assassin from Al Thamen dealt him a fatal blow, the only evidence that it was them a broken doll. When a person finally stumbled upon his body, he was in the midst of taking his last breaths. His palms faced upwards and his eyes were cast towards the golden ceiling. "Eden," the person heard him whisper. He died with the Thing's name on his lips, and he spoke no more.

* * *

"Would you look at that," a burly man crowed, puffing his scarred chest out. His nose had obviously been broken a few times, one of his eyes was still blackened, and he was missing a total of six teeth that could be seen. "They've put a little'un in our midst. Wonder what we're supposed to do wit' it."

Cruel eyes gleamed with malicious intent. One spoke up: "Well, seeing as they've put a little girl in our midst, I'm sure that they're tryin' to cater to our needs as men. None of us have been able to get some for quite some time, eh?" He laughed along with dozens of others in the room. Really, the idea that members of the colosseum, the criminals, murderers, and rapists that they were, were allowed in the same room for large periods of time was a horrible idea.

They pulled their circle in tighter and tighter, until their bodily odors was the only thing that the little girl could smell. It was rancid, but she did not grimace. Smelling the burning bodies of a village did that to a person, not to mention that feces and urine was also a smell that hung in the air before the fire consumed them. She was not scared, per se, but she was no longer knew herself, no longer knew what she was capable of, and did not know whether to try and stand her ground or run.

She grimaced. The last time she stood her ground, a village burnt to the ground, and no matter how horrible these people were, they couldn't really deserve it.

 _But they do,_ whispered a little voice in her head. _And all you have to do to get rid of them is let me help. You know that they're bad people, you know that the only people who end up here are people who have killed and plundered in the worst circumstances. You'll be doing the world a favor._

Her body stilled completely. She refused to let the voice sweet-talk her into doing anything, not ever again. The voice's power was great, but the damage… and she had no control. She would not let that happen again. So instead, she ran. She ducked and weaved between the tiny crevices that separated their bodies. She got caught twice, but wriggled out of their grasp. As soon as a hand touched her, they pulled away like they were burned. She made it all the way to the single guard that watched them, and looked up at him with hope.

His face contorted and he pushed her away with the broad side of his sword, back into the crowd. "This is initiation," he spat. "Just because you're a girl, don't think that you're going to be getting any kind of special treatment."

The hands came and pulled her back into the sea of smelly bodies. Every inch of her body was touched and prodded, some laughing at her discomfort, none of them shying away. "Missy, you've got no fight. You're not gonna last a day out in the arena, so you might as well let us have our fun with you now. Who knows, maybe if you're good enough to us, we'll protect you."

She shivered, but refused to cry. The first and only lesson that she learned from her mother was that wolves could smell fear, and that tears did nothing to help your situation. It was true; tears were an illogical response, and the energy expended doing a useless acton could instead be used to contemplate and concentrate on a way out of it. Yes, at the tender age of eleven, she had learned a lot of harsh lessons about how cruel the world was, and for the next ten years, she would learn even more.

After half an hour, she thanked every god that she knew of that they did not go any farther than touching her. Some had attempted, but there was always another hand that took its place before that could happen. After that half hour, the guard finally came in to stop them, and put her in a single cell, far away from anybody else's.

The torchlight was dim, but even then she could see the black ink that branded her skin. A tingle went through her body, and she thought of the man who asked her to repent yesterday. When the light flickered, her memory of him dimmed, and she was left with the horrible feeling that he was no longer around.

She did not need to look below the block letters that spelled her name to recite one of the lines needled in below it, but she glanced at it anyways. "Sic itur ad astra," she said, brushing her fingertips over the cursive, feeling her skin burn as she dragged her hand over each letter.

Her small body fit in the corner perfectly. "Thus, you shall go to the stars," she repeated. Another star appeared in the sky that night, and years later, an astronomer would name it Xanthos.

* * *

*Wonders if the author will ever finish a story* who knows. I get sidetracked super easily, so unless someone keeps a thread going with me on the one they really like, progress prob will not be made.

BTW(maybe I should have put this at beginning) this story might end up having triggers for some people. Rape, molestation, murder, death, and gore will consistently be a part of the story.

If you've got any questions, shoot them over on a review or PM and I'll try to get back to you.

Reviews, favorites, and follows always make a (horrible finals day) better! Please brighten up my day so I don't feel so sucky right now!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

An easy smile on her face, she said, "How 'bout no." One of the men sidled up to her and put a sweaty hand around her shoulder. He smelled like garlic and urine.

He smiled and loomed over her. "Sweetie, I'm sure it's been really hard on you to fight in here, but I'll treat you real well. We'll have lots of fun together." The other men almost felt bad for him. Really, it was his own fault for not knowing about the girl; she was famous throughout the empire for taking down people with one hit. They faulted it on him being new, and the fact that the girl looked too petite to do any harm. Any scars she had were not visible, and the only sign that she was a fighter was the lithe muscles that one could see on her arms.

Her smile came easy and quick, so blinding that the poor man thought she was accepting his offer. "How 'bout no, right down to the seventh level of hell?" She slipped out of his grasp and kicked him in the balls. It was dirty, but fighting dirty was what got her the wins, and what made the other men fear her. After five years of fighting in the colosseum, you learn that pride is not a good thing to have if you want to win.

The man fell to the ground clutching his crotch, eyes watering and curse words flowing. A more considerate competitor patted him on the back, knowing full well how painful the girl's kicks were, being on the opposite side of her powerful legs once. "It's not a good idea to piss Deus off. She might not be the oldest, and she might not have been around here for the longest, but you'll regret crossing her every time."

Eyes still watering, his voice crackled. "Deus? As in, the one-hit god of the colosseum?" A nod answered him. He moaned. This was something that he couldn't imagine; there was no way someone so young and small could be one of the three Gods of the colosseum. "For fuck's sake, this little girl is Deus?"

Rolling her shoulders, she exhaled through her nose. "Anybody else wanna test their luck?" Once she got strong enough, she hurt anybody that pissed her off to keep the rest of them in line(and a little more, but once you were on that cusp, it only took a push). So far, it worked wonderfully, and she got whatever she asked for. It was a far cry from who she had been when she first got here, but five years staying in a prison with deadly beasts and criminals toughened her beyond comparison. Any trauma that she got quickly had to be thrown away, and the need to survive was the thing that ran through her mind every second of every day. Surviving came first, and anything else was unnecessary. And her past showed that a certain amount of arrogance was necessary to not get harmed.

The little crowd that had gathered around them dispersed. "Hey, Dimitriou," she pushed her way over to the guard. "D'you know how much I've got in my account?"

His face was stiff and his stance was rigid. He had been one of the unfortunate recipients of one of her punches last year, and his nose broke due to it. "You've got more than enough for whatever you want, _prisoner_."

Deus twisted her hair up into a ponytail. "Good. Now write this down. I want new boots, an extra set of clothes like the ones I'm wearing now, undergarments- ask Laurel, she'll know what size- a bar of soap, another set of weights, cloth of any color, and another stationary set." Halfway through her first year, she discovered that if you win fights, you were awarded winnings, even though they were considered criminals. They could buy anything they wanted with their earnings, except for weapons, though most tended to save up to buy their freedom. She could not buy her freedom, so there was nothing else to do but spend it.

"Oh, and just for the heck of it, buy some custard creams and share it with your guard friends. And a pack of beef jerky for myself." Dimitriou was writing down her order frantically. As one of the guards that were stationed more frequently here, he knew that if he didn't come back with all of the items she listed, he would be on the receiving side of a kick to the chest, and with the little edge that her boots had, it packed one hell of a punch.

He was glad that she never tried to escape, because he wasn't entirely sure if there was any guard that could actually stop her. She was only slightly less powerful than the veterans that had been here for more than five years, and she was an awful good helper to help get them back in line. How she managed to stop the more powerful ones from hurting her, he had no clue, but he was fairly sure that there was some kind of deal that went on between them that occured after her first year here(no, that was a lie, he new exactly how she was keeping them in line, how she kept everybody in line. She was a monster, more so than the worst criminals).

Dimitriou was fairly sure that her first year had been one of the worst amongst all of the gladiators. As a young girl, she had been molested by many of the older ones, though none of them were allowed long enough with her to rape her, and she only barely made it through every battle. It was a miracle that she hadn't died(she didn't- she couldn't, she was too strong, too frightening).

Still, that was better than most of the girls that ended up here, typically on false accusations. Those girls got broken within hours, died within a week or two. And within that time period, they got broken beyond repair; most of the girls who came were older, and the other gladiators didn't have even the slightest moral dilemma about raping them. After the three years he had been in service in Reim, he still didn't know whether or not the rumors of Deus killing a village was true; he couldn't imagine her killing that many typically(no, her kills were one at a time, slow and torturous…), but once she got into the arena, she was a different person(and then he could, he could imagine her burning everything in her path for no reason at all).

Her fights were the ones that everybody wanted to see, though they lasted the shortest. It was the fire in her eyes, the fluidity of her movements, the artful precision of where she landed a hit. That was for other gladiators though, and the ones that were the most anticipated were the ones where she fought against a beast. He had watched her battle beasts a few times, and he had been utterly terrified.

When she fought with a beast, he couldn't tell where her pupil started and where her iris ended. She fought with her teeth bared, just like the creatures she faced. If they scratched her once, she paid them back a thousand fold. Her method of fighting was brutal, animalistic, savage. It sent chills down his spine, and he was glad that she didn't fight like that against other humans, because watching the blood of humans raining down on the arena was not a pleasant thought. Even just imagining it, it made his stomach turn.

The guard also knew that her fights were the ones that were most commonly frequented by the ever-growing Fanalis corps as well as the special military forces of Reim. They were the first ones in, and they never took their eyes off the match for a moment. Dimitriou was sure that once she served out her sentence(because there was no way that she could die- she was a God in the arena after all) she would be recruited into the military. He didn't know if the girl wanted to, but even if she didn't, they would find a way to tie her down, by hook or by crook.

A hand was waving in front of his face. "Dimitriou? Earth to Dimitriou?" He snapped to attention. "Finally," Deus rolled her eyes, "I said that I wanted you to commission a metal cuff for me. Just one, in silver, and a chain that comes out of it." She held up a drawing, crudely done, but got the point across. "Don't care how long it takes, or how much it costs. In fact, it's probably better if it takes a long time for me to get it. But I want it sturdy enough so it won't bend or break in combat, and I want two chains; one thing that can loop around my wrist and one that's longer with another cuff that can attach to my upper arm."

She thought for a beat. "You know, I don't want it until at least a year from now, and even then, I want it a little bigger than my wrist and upper arm. You don't have to order it until next year, but this'll be your heads up."

He opened his mouth and closed it. She ordered him around frequently, but she never asked him to commission something for her before. It was rather odd, and though it wasn't against any of the rules, nobody had asked for something to be commissioned before. "Yeah, and if you're wondering why I want it, tough nuts, you're not going to get an answer until I get out of here. In the meantime though, a thin silver anklet or something similar will do."

Her request had to do with metal; typically she asked for leather straps if she wanted any kind of jewelry. Silver was flashy, and it made that body part an instant target if her opponent was another gladiator. Anything you take off the opponent's body, you can keep. The only thing to do with metal that would be beneficial to her was dungeon capturing, but Dimitriou didn't see how she could capture a dungeon while she was imprisoned. Perhaps she got the news that the Fanalis Corps leader got a metal vessel and was interested in acquiring one for herself?

"No guessin' what I'm gonna be using it for either, Dimitriou. After all, I'm using my own money to treat you and the rest of the guards to food. Don't butt into my business." Her eyes narrowed, and she playfully wagged a finger at him. Though the years had been harsh, there was no doubt that her personality had grown very pronounced. "Don't worry 'bout it though, it's not like I'm custom ordering a weapon. Plenty of these guys keep armor on them; just think of this the same. Or if you want, you could think of it like those damned shackles the slaves wear." First, she gestured towards one of the men in the room that had full on armor, wrought from iron. He traded one of the guards money for it, and it seemed to be doing its purpose just fine.

Then, she pointed towards the dark hallway, the one that held less light than their own. That was the quarters where the slaves were kept, and they had nearly no chances of surviving past fight one. This room was full of criminals, people who knew pain and how to manipulate it. But the slaves, they were not at fault. They were dragged into the life and given little to no hope. The rooms that the slaves were kept in held a much more somber mood, as their number decreased daily. Deus had passed the rooms once or twice, for reasons she long forgot. Still, as soon as she stepped into the darned place, she wanted to turn tail and run. She could deal with bloodlust, rage, and anger, but sadness was something she didn't know what to do with. She herself had never been patted on the back when she was upset, when she cried. Not when she was young, and certainly not know. Crying was weak, and yet, all of those slaves were huddled into corners, choked sobs erupting from their throats. What was worse that that, was the silence. The silence of those who had been broken already, the ones that had nothing left to fight for, nothing left to live for- nothing left to die for.

Deus hated the slave's corridor. Ever since that first time, she refused to go there even upon request. It was one of the only things she wouldn't budge on.

Now off of the ground, the man whose crotch she kicked staggered back up. "Don't think I'm not going ta go down without a fight." She sneered at him. Just thinking about the slaves corridor got her riled up, and if he wanted a fight, she wouldn't be so kind as to put him down with one hit. He snarled, clenching the area near his family jewels. His pride had been injured, and by the magi, he wasn't going to lose to a little girl. Deus was one thing, but this girl could not be deus; the other men must have been lying to him. "Ya little bitch! Know your place. Little girl's ain't supposed to go 'round acting so high 'n mighty."

Well, when he did go, at least he would go out swinging. A huge hand came down upon Deus, and the criminal attempted to grab her by the hair. Though her hair was longer than some of the men, it only fell to her shoulders, so it wouldn't provide much of a gripping station anyways. His attempt to grab her came much too late, though. Again, she kicked him, though this time not in the groin. She kicked the back of his right knee, bringing him to a knee. She kicked the other, and then his crotch, and he kneeled prostrate now.

The boot she wore, well worn and rather soft, still had an edge to it, and as she rubbed it into his shoulder, a little bit of dirt and fecal matter chipped off. Her face contorted and turned into a horrible beast that the other criminals rarely saw. A little more pressure and his chest was on the floor. Dislocating both shoulders, his screams of pain caused the other criminals in the room to look away in disgust, or to look towards the beat down with avid interest. It all depended on their morals as men. "Dimitriou, what's the date?"

"June 21st." Dimitriou did not intervene. His face was carefully closed, shoulders relaxed, but hands tensed on his sword. This scene was all too familiar to him.

When the screams died down to whispers, and the man thrashed less, she crouched down to his level. "Know my place?" The people who had been around the place for more than two years shivered, because her voice was reminiscent of when her biggest change happened. For three years, she had been looked down upon, but still strong enough to ward off any attacks. For the last two though, she reigned as the irrefutable ruler. Yes, she was not the strongest, but she made the most connections, and even those who were stronger than her could not help but acquiesce to her demands. "I think you should know yours instead."

The man spat at her face. She got up with a laugh. "Oh, 'scuse me. I was mistaken. You don't need to know your place." Deus wiped off the spit and flung it onto the floor. "You don't have a place, not here. Perhaps a better place for you would be…"

Her leg raised again, and she brought it down with the power of a battle axe, hitting exactly the right place. Again, she laughed. "Buried underneath a pile of trash. Because scum like you don't even get six feet under." She rubbed the heel of her foot in a little bit more, crunching his neck under foot. With strength that came from years of training and conditioning, Deus was very capable of twisting somebody's neck, especially when their neck was positioned just so. His chin had been propping him an inch or two off the ground, and from there, it was as easy as making the crowd in the colosseum call for blood.

Smile wide, she gave a glance back to Dimitriou. "You should get somebody to clean up this body." Her nose crinkled just a little bit. "His shit is going to smell real bad, awful soon."

The grip on his sword relaxed before he nodded and left the room. Deus stepped over the body and put both palms up in a gesture of peace. "All's well that end's well, right?" The weaker ones, the ones less versed in the cruelty that went on behind closed doors, were shocked and wary. Those that weren't…. They understood. This had been a show of her strength, something she started to do quarterly, to strike fear into the new addition's heart. The more fear, the less they would be willing to rebel.

The veterans knew her game all too well. They had done it too sometimes, but not so practiced, and not with such intention. More often than not for them, it was spur of the moment. But Deus, when she killed… there was little reason, very little reason, and the only thing that linked them together were the dates.

A kill every time the seasons changed; fresh blood to bring in a new season.

Later that day, the man who did nothing wrong except for the criminal actions that threw him into the colosseum, was tossed into a dumpster. A thin layer of trash covered his body, and his eyes, still open, could see nothing more than the buzzing of flies.

* * *

"High Priestess Scheherazade." Dimitriou lowered his head and got down on one knee. With his left hand open against his right fist, he shook, ever so slightly. "She killed another today."

There was no need for her to ask who, because Dimitriou only had one real job. "Is that so?" Her gaze fell upon a figure clad in gold. "Well, Muu? Are you planning on fighting her any time soon?"

"No, Lady Scheherazade. Not when the end of every fight calls for blood. If your theory holds true, she could be a very useful ally to us in the future, and-"

Nerva interrupted. "Useful? A little girl? I should have known that the likes of you would support her joining Reim." He gave a pointed glare at Muu, unsuccessfully trying to talk down to the red-haired man. Adjusting the laurel on his head, he stuck his nose towards the sky and scoffed. Muu's shoulders tensed, and he clenched the sword at his side so hard that his knuckles turned white.

He did not speak up for himself, no matter how mad he was. "That's enough, Nerva, Muu." Scheherazade closed her eyes and gave a world-weary sigh. "Would you fight her, Muu, if you were given an opportunity outside of the colosseum? Is she strong enough as she is now to hold her own against you?"

Muu paused a beat. The girl was strong, but she was still a girl, and younger than him at that. He was half fanalis; she was not. He was blessed with a djinn(though to make him use it in battle was doubtful); she did not. He had formal training, years of strategy, years of war; she did not. The mock fights that she did in the colosseum were brutal and quick. She knew how to put on a good show, but that wouldn't be enough. The art of war was something entirely different. So when he answered, he was sure of himself. "She would not last more than a minute."

It was a kind answer, given that when he was serious, the majority of his opponents didn't last past fifteen seconds. Scheherazade fingered the gold metal of her staff. "I see. Dimitriou, any odd requests from her? Anything out of the ordinary at all?"

"Like all of the other deaths she's caused inside of the prison, she had no true reason to be angered enough to kill. It seems as though her method of antagonizing people has become slightly more brutal, though no less than some of the fights that we've all witnessed at the colosseum. As for out of the ordinary requests, she did ask for me to commission an item for her. A single, silver metal cuff with two sets of chains coming out of it. She has given me a depiction of it, if the Lady so wishes to see it."

She tilted her head a little bit, jewels in her hair tinkling. "Approach." He fumbled a little bit, long black bangs getting in the way of his line of sight. Nerva let out a snort, showing how little he cared for the man who was not originally from Reim. The paper was folded neatly into a square, creases expertly placed to ensure that the drawing would be preserved as much as possible. Dimitriou placed it on her lap and retreated back into his kneeling position.

Her lips pursed as she tapped on the paper twice. "Did she ask for any specific smith to make it? What time does she want it done by?"

"No, she did not ask for any specific smith. She said to commission it after a year has passed."

"You may be dismissed, Dimitriou. I will return this paper to you in a year's time." The man scurried out of the room, like a mouse fleeing from a housecat. Scheherazade stood. "Now, then, let us discuss what our next course of action should be."

"My lady, no offense meant, but is it truly imperative that we must act now? We have five more years before she is dismissed from the colosseum, and during those years, we can decide what to do with her. As it stands now, I see no need to recruit such a young girl to our side." Ignatius, the oldest dungeon capturer, was a little bit dubious about recruiting a girl who would kill so easily just to maintain power in a criminal's den. Perhaps it was necessary, yes, but it only took a step from the death of criminals to the deaths of innocents.

"It's true; we don't need to act now. But her loyalty to Reim will forever be in doubt if we do not clear her now. Nobody in the army would be willing to trust her, or follow her lead. This is why we must get her to be as strong as possible as soon as possible. War with Kou is inevitable; if we are one person stronger, that might make all the difference."

Under his breath, Nerva said, "I don't see how a mere woman would be able to make any difference in war. That's a man's job."

"Nerva," Scheherazade warned. He fell silent. "I know the three of you may be against this, but having this girl in our employ would be more favorable than if she ended up with Kou. Which is why I'm suggesting she spends the rest of her sentence under the tutelage of the Yambala gladiators."

Scheherazade's suggestions were orders, not a persuasion. When she suggested something, it was to be done. Ignatius took this as his cue to leave. "I understand, High Priestess. I will set this up immediately. Do you wish for her to move out of the prison in the colosseum?"

"Yes…. but she isn't allowed outside of her quarters until further notice." The three of them bowed to her and exited the room, leaving her alone with the hopes she had for Reim's future, and the horrible premonition that the evil she had sensed in Kou would only grow.

She wondered of the abnormality she had felt all those years ago, and found herself thinking of the Sindrian Trading company. As long as a new power didn't sprout up within the next few years, everything should be fine…

* * *

All of this is basically build up to around chapter 4, so hang in there readers! things will get a lot more interesting and confusing there! Also, because I've already written up to chapter 5, you can expect bi-monthly updates for this story, and this story alone. Personally, I really like Deus' character, but I would love to hear what everybody else has to say.

*should be going to robotics, but don't want to face my life..

As always, reviews, follows, and favorites make a writer happy!


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright you little cunt," one of the rougher guards that was new shoved Deus. "You get to get out of this hell hole, so be glad."

Deus could not be leaving their numbers. Here in the prison, everybody knew everybody's business, and there was no doubt that her sentence had been ten years. Only five years had passed. She pulled her wrist out of his hold. Eyes flashing, she retreated so her back was against a wall. "Where'n the seven hells are you taking me? I've still got five years in my sentence, and if you think for a god damned second you'll be taking me off to be killed, you've got ta get your head screwed on right."

The guard growled, unfamiliar with the entity that was renowned as one of the Gods of the colosseum. "Don't be thinking you're so entitled, piece of shit, because I could take you in five, probably less than that."

It always was good to have fights in the prison; it caused a great amount of joy and large betting pools. "Twenty gold that Deus'll cream him before a minute," whispered one. That one statement incurred the clamoring of nearly a hundred or so men, all trying to cash in bets before it started.

She was a wild animal, tearing, screeching, fighting for her life. He was down with the first hit, but she kept going, not wanting what little security that was left to her to flee. Prison may have been hell to some, but to her, prison was better than that place she lived in for the years before she got sent here, far better. And knowing only a few places throughout her lifetime, she couldn't help that admit that, despite the horrible amenities, the prison had become her home.

Another man came into the room. "If you could kindly step away from the man on the floor, I would be glad to explain the situation to you." Deus almost launched herself onto that man as well, but stopped when the dull shine of gold and fiery red hair entered her line of vision. She stomped on the man's hand one last time, scorning the object that had tried to pull her from this place.

"What do _you_ want, Muu Alexius, Captain o' the Fanalis corps and almighty God of the colosseum? What business could you possibly have 'ere?" Deus dusted herself off, reluctantly straightening out and glaring into his eyes.

"My business is with you." He gave her a smile, never willing to disobey the commands of his Lady. "The last five years of your sentence, you will spend it outside of the prison. I'm here to bring you to the Yambala Gladiator School. All of the items in your cell have already been packed up and sent ahead."

Eyes narrowed, she took a step towards him. "And who the hell said to send me there? I was under the impression that I was a bloodthirsty monster not fit for a name, and I was lucky to just getta five year sentence." Hands on hips, she cocked her head and spat on the ground. "'Sides, I like it 'ere, so you don't gotta take me away. Probably gonna be expensive anyways, Reim doesn't need to pay for me."

She fought similarly to an untrained Fanalis, Muu realized, and spoke with the roughness of somebody coming from the slums. It left a sick feeling in his stomach, to see a little girl devolve into something like this. Blood was caked underneath her fingertips, there were scars from her first times in the arena that never healed, and a hard look in her eyes that could only came from a crappy life. Her hair was greasy and she was ungroomed. But above all that, she was feral, just like Lo'Lo had been at first.

If she was like Lo'Lo, the only way to get her to listen would be to rough, to show his power. "It's not a choice you get to make," he said as he went around her back and held her by her armpits, lifting her a clear foot off the ground. She was fragile, much more fragile than a Fanalis. He pulled back a little more, to the extent that normal men would scream.

Smart enough to let her limbs go limp, the pain was minimized but still there. She refused to call out though, because that would wreck both her reputation and the glass-like confidence she held in herself. Focusing her strength on her core, she kicked backwards in attempt to wriggle out. It was not enough. "Don't try to struggle, and I'll let you down."

She became a ragdoll in his hands, and true to his word, he set her back down on the ground. He was met with a bony fist aiming for his neck and a kick to his crotch, both of which he evaded. Muu frowned and picked her off the ground by a single wrist. The bone was so thin, he felt he could break it just by applying a little pressure. He did so, and he felt a tremor going through her body, pupils dilating due to the pain.

It couldn't be denied that she had the instincts of a fighter, and the mentality of a winner, always going for the kill. In later years, it would serve her well, but right now, she was lacking the most basic form, and was only going off her instincts. That could be fixed though.

His thoughts were interrupted by another kick, one that landed. Yes, it had power, but if she put her entire body behind it, it could be much stronger. It was not strong enough to make him let go. Behind him, the entirety of the prison had flooded out to see the fight, al bobbing up and down to catch the action. Deus knew they had no loyalty, knew that the only thing that kept them in line was fear. And right now, she had lost all of her power, because hovering above the ground and being beaten was not something that inspired people to action.

Still, she didn't regret ruling by fear, because ruling with love would never have worked in a place like this. But, more than that, she didn't know how to rule by love. Fear was the most efficient, the tidiest, the most self-assured. To rule by love, you had to place trust in others, and that was something she couldn't bring herself to do.

Five minutes later, she was knocked out and was carried away on Muu's back. The silence that was left behind in the prison spoke of everything that the criminals could not voice. After another minute, a struggle broke out for who would be the next in power.

* * *

"Meet Shambal Ramal. He will be your instructor for the next few years." Muu nodded his head towards the drunken man gambling his life's earnings away on the poker table. One arm was wound tightly around her, so she would not be able to escape.

At the halfway mark to the casino, Deus had woken up with nary a complaint. He had been surprised at first, but then saw the disheartened look in her eyes. She knew defeat when she saw it, and to her, there was no point in fighting back. Muu had set her on the ground and she didn't even try to run away, knowing that as a half-Fanalis, he could outrun her anytime he wanted to. Those were the facts, plain and simple.

"Come on, let me play just one more time. Double or nothing, right?" The man bartered with the dealer. "Look, I'll even trade in the clothes off my own back."

Close by, a little girl with red armor had her cheeks burst into flame. "Master," she scolded. "Don't trade your clothes again. We have to get back to the school! There's supposed to be a new student coming today, one that High Priestess Scheherazade recommended." Her hands tugged on the old man's shirt, and after a few seconds, she succeeded in pulling him away from the table. Muu stopped both her and the old man.

"Toto, it's good to see you again, do you remember me?" Muu knelt down and ruffled her hair, which made the girl burst into blush, yet again. He was always kind to children; how could he not be? They were so innocent and naive. He turned to Shambal. "I've got your new student here, old man."

Where he bowed down to Scheherazade as if she were his savior(which she sort of was), and treated children like they were adorable(which they were), he treated anybody else with disgust and vehemence. These were the people who condemned his brethren to a life of slavery, and if he didn't actively make trips to save them, they would forever be in servitude.

"Muu," he greeted, slightly tipsy. "Still in that phase of defiance, I see. Some time soon, you're going to have to get rid of it," he sang(oh, Muu would get rid of it, but when he did, it wouldn't be because he would outgrow it; it would be because he was forced out of it).

Still on the ground next to Toto, he whispered conspiratorially, "The man's crazy, isn't he?" To which Toto nodded her head vigorously. "Well in any case, Toto, would you mind taking care of this girl for me?" He jerked his thumb at Deus. "Her name is-"

"Deus, I go by Deus," she said, interrupting him mid-sentence. As long as she was Deus, she would retain some of the confidence she had gained out in the arena, though it had been tarnished by the utter defeat she felt at the hands of Muu.

The child's eyes glittered. "Deus? As in, one of the Gods of the Colosseum, Deus? You're that Deus?" At this, Shambal found it in himself to rouse himself from his drooling state to inspect the girl across from him a little more carefully. It was, indeed, the face that he had seen under the savage light that the arena caused. It was as dirty as ever, but it looked more world-weary; older. He glanced over at Muu, then back to the girl; at the bruise rapidly spreading on her wrist, the awkward way her shoulders were set.

"I am," she assured herself. "I am."

Muu raised his hands in defeat, standing up and backing away. "Alright, Deus, I'm going to leave you here with them. I'll come back to check in on you every month or so." Deus didn't respond. He left them with no other words.

"So little girl, you're the infamous Deus?" Shambal drunkenly stumbled along the path with Toto pushing him back on the path whenever he drifted off. Deus nodded, mute. She pondered the chances of escaping but shot the idea down as soon as it passed her mind. It would be hellish if she got caught, and somehow she was sure that the dratted captain of the Fanalis Corps was still keeping an eye on her, even now. "I'm surprised to hear you're interested in learning the Yambala Gladiator way."

It took nearly half of the walk back to the abode for her to answer, for during the entire way there, she was wondering whether or not she would be able to get away with running from this place. She could not, she knew after walking a hundred meters or so. She saw the gold hiding in some little corner, a flash of red, and she knew that the accursed captain of the fanalis corps was watching to make sure she would follow the old man. And even if it wasn't Muu, and it was another Fanalis, she still knew that she would not stand a chance. "I'm not-interested in learning, that is."

"Then why were you recommended to me?" He gave her a cursory stare, sober thanks to the walk and half a gallon of water, and sat down on a well-worn, wooden chair with a few chunks taken out of it. It was obviously his seat; Shambal did not need to shift around at all to seem right at ease in it.

Deus looked at the chair offered to her like it was the strangest of beasts in the colosseum-not the fiercest, but the most bizarre. She shook her head and sat down next to it instead, leaning one arm on the seat. "I haven't a rat's ass. The Fanalis Captain just showed up o'er at the prison and took me with him. All I know 's that I'm gonna be spending some time of my sentence here."

Toto stopped making tea and looked over at the girl she admired so. "You're a criminal? What were you sentenced for?" Questions, questions; they revealed too much, but told nothing at all. The phrasing was ever important, but the response; even more so. And, Deus, hardened by five years, could no longer tell when a question was innocent or not. All questions were accusatory, no matter the asker, no matter their age, no matter their innocence.

She rose from the ground and shuddered. "Tha's no business o' yours. And by the seven hells- if you ask again, I will put you six feet under. Personal matters stay personal." Of course, that only incited the younger girl's curiosity, but she refrained from asking anymore, sensing that Deus was toeing the edge of her breaking point. Toto was not willing to be the hapless piece of meat shredded under her claws.

Shambal clapped his hands and dusted his pants off. Taking a swig from the brown jug besides him(which, hopefully, was only water), he said, "Now, now, that's enough Deus. I'm sure you've had a tiring day, but before we turn in, I want to test your skills- see them first hand, if you will."

Though her eyes didn't light up- they hadn't in a long time- she grinned like a maniac, for all she was worth. Fighting wasn't pleasurable, per se, rather, it was the only thing she could reliably do with no problems. She liked the rush of adrenaline it gave her, how it made her mind go numb and all she could do was fight off instinct. Fighting mad her feel so powerful- and powerless at the same time. She liked the fear that ran through her head when she fought, how she could chase it away, and how it came rushing back in moments after the fight. "Sure. 's the colosseum open?"

In response, he shook his head. "I'm not going to fight you in the arena. We have training grounds for a reason. After this, Toto will show you where you can wash up, and I'll give you a bit of money so you can buy some new clothes for yourself. It won't take more than a minute, I promise." He started to walk off before he gave a glance back and motioned for her to come with him.

* * *

Just like the arena in the colosseum, the floor was the dusty color of dried up soil with no nutrients in it. The grain was unforgiving when one got slammed against the floor, irritating even the toughest of skins. Deus was familiar with roughing it, though, and despite the advantage she would have if she wore her boots, something told her that today was not the day for any kind of cheap tricks. Today she would have to fight like she was fighting a feral animal.

Only the necessary, and rely on her power alone. Her encounters with the truly wild had been limited (the beasts in the colosseum were only a simulated wild, the kind of wild that is bred of hatred, not survival) but they left large impressions on her.

Two seconds into the fight, her nose started to bleed. Not a lot; just a trickle, and the feeling was nothing foreign. The only problem was that the man hadn't even touched her yet. He still stood two feet away, and she was circling, circling- doing nothing that should have earned her a bloody nose. Still, she didn't pause, not even deigning to stop and wipe the blood trickling down into her mouth.

The pressure on her body seemed to increase. Opposite her, Shambal's eyes watched her ever so carefully, noting how agile she was, even under the magical exertion he was giving off. Each movement was carefully-calculated, and it was obvious that the girl had experience. It was to be expected when one was fighting for their life every day. Still, the five years of experience had nothing of the constant training that Yambala tribe members were put through since before they could walk. Five years had nothing on the Fanalis, either, due to their immense physical training and exertion, whether it was from years of slavery, or training by choice. And against royalty, she would stand no chance either, now with their years of swordplay and tutors that traveled the world to pick and choose the best techniques.

Still, she had potential. Most fighters-gladiators or not- were not be able to last more than twenty seconds under the constant pressure and nudges from his magoi. Now, thirty seconds had passed, and the only fatigue she was showing was the still-running bloody nose. Shambal drilled his fingers into the hilt of his sword, trying to recall some of the girl's past fights. By God, her fights with men were memorable, but not in a goodway. But she wasn't fighting like she had in those matches. She was fighting like she did when she was up against the most feared ligers. And Shambal, try as he might, could not remember them.

Shambal spoke. "Aren't you going to attack any time soon?" It was a taunting statement, one that broke the concentration of silence. To Deus, it was completely foreign. She was in a zone where the voices of spectators did not reach her, and her whole being was focused on annihilating her opponent. When she was like this, her opponents never spoke; they only roared and growled.

It startled her enough that her body began to feel the pressure, and it urged her to move. No dust was kicked up from her movements, rather, the whole world seemed to slow for a moment as the girl approached him, and Shambal realized that this girl was made a fighter, but was a force of destruction by _instinct_. Almost, it almost scared him that this small little girl was gifted(cursed?) with such a powerful will. He had seen many who excelled in battle, in tactics, in war, but above it all were the ones who ran on pure instinct. They were the ones who were unpredictable, ever-shifting, ever-changing. And the instinct of somebody bred for destruction was a frightening thing indeed.

Time stopped, and his eyes picked out a faint line of aura surrounding her body, something that came with years and years of experience. He swung his sword and unsheathed it in one smooth motion, and it cut right through her very being. She staggered. She fell. She got right back up again. And then, she stumbled.

The blade of Shambal's sword had been more than two feet away from her, yet she felt as though a great force had just pushed her downwards. There had been a sharp pain, and now, as she looked down at her clothes, her clothes and skin had a slash going through it, oozing blood, slowly. Deus snarled, not yet registering the pain that would undoubtedly pay her back two fold after the fight was done. Her mind was no longer clear(never had been, not really, not when everything was so dark, so, so dark) and the edges of her vision was tinted black.

Her body screamed. Her mind screamed. And for the first time in a very long time, her heart screamed too. The blood still flowed. It dripped into different spots, one of them coming from her nose, the other coming from the gash. For a moment, Deus disappeared. In her place; Eden. Bloody Eden. Broken Eden. Horrible Eden. Demon Eden. Monster Eden.

Eden did not scream, did not yell, did not fight. But Eden had power, power that Deus would never be able to truly harness. From the blood of a criminal, what should have been a saint rose from hell to avenge. Black eyes flashed with fire, and her white hair was untamable. The blood began to flow faster. Drip-drop-drip-drop went the blood. It wasn't so loud, but in silence, a breath is a scream.

The potential that Shambal saw in Deus increased exponentially. This was what made Deus stand up; this was what kept Deus going through the impossible fights. Deus wasn't a saint, but Eden- well, Eden was special in the way that nobody knew whether she was going to be a God or the Devil himself.

But as soon as Eden surfaced, Deus wrested control back into her grasp. This time, when she fell to the floor, she didn't get back up. Shambal looked at the gold pocket watch he was never able to gamble off. Two minutes and forty-four seconds. A good starting time. He would be able to work with her; either Deus or Eden. If worse came to worse, he could try to merge them(like he did so many others, but they were never quite the same after, always a little off, always a little funny- not quite right, not what they were supposed to be). He left her on the ground and allowed toto to carry her over. Right now, he had to figure out how he could draw out the most potential without awakening the beast.

Oh, Shambal knew about Eden. There had been whispers of a little girl massacring a village, burning it to the ground, making it so that the bodies were unrecognizable and burnt into ash. There had been cries from the(few, very few) survivors, the ones that had been on the very outskirts of the village, but even then they had the most horrible heat burns. There had been whispers of a girl with hair and skin white as an angel's feather, blacks eyes of innocence and hell. But most importantly, Scheherazade had whispered to him once, that there was a little girl who was a criminal in the eyes of the world, but a savior in the eyes of her own.

For all the power that the girl held, it came with a price(a heavy one, Scheherazade had said), and Shambal knew that even if he was offered the amount of potential and raw talent and power that Eden had, he wouldn't be able to trade it for his life, not with knowing what he did. He vividly remembered just a few years ago, when Toto was scared of what lurked in the dark. He remembered her ear piercing scream, the blood-red eyes she described, the ever present. Eden-Deus-both of them- they had to live with a monster for their whole life. What the monster was Scheherazade had never specified(power, she had said, being very vague and refusing to give more), but they would undoubtedly have conflict in their lives.

Shambal sighed as Deus shuddered awake in Toto's arms.

The moment that Deus woke up, all she saw was fire. It was imagined; nothing more than a memory. The memory induced the smell of burning flesh, the watering of the eyes. Then, Deus cut that memory out and focused on the present, on what was in front of her. Well, rather, what was below her. Toto was taking off her boots, unlacing them with a kind of tenderness Deus was unfamiliar with. Moving around a bit, she grunted loudly to let the younger girl know she was awake. Toto glanced up, smiled, and went back to unlacing the boots. "Can do that myself." Deus said.

"No, it's okay, I'm sure you must be tired. After my practice battles with Master Shambal, I get so tired I can barely move. He has to pick me up and carry to my bed, and I only last around a minute. He says its because I'm too young- he says that I don't have enough experience either." Toto rambled a little bit, gently pulling the boot off of Deus' right foot. She followed suit with the left and got to her feet. "There's a bath waiting for you right in that room over there. There's a sauna here too, but I figured that might be too far away. Also, there's an extra set of clothes and some bandages."

Deus followed the girl's finger to an adjacent room. She nodded curtly. "Thanks, Toto. Y' didn't have to do this. Would've gotten by just fine if y'just left me on the ground." The younger girl's eyes widened slightly, as if she just realized something, but by the time her mouth opened to ask the question, she was talking to an empty room.

"Did anyone ever take care of you in the colosseum?" The question fell from her lips, even as Toto knew she would never receive an answer to such an obvious question. She had watched the battles herself, seen the anger of those who opposed Deus, the malicious glee that the guards took her back to the prison with. The recent fights blotted out the first battles that Deus had in the colosseum, but if Toto really thought back, she could remember them.

* * *

Deus was small- even smaller than she was(but now she looked so much bigger, so much stronger, so much more than Toto was), and there were cuts all over her body, a dead look in her eyes, and an overall sense of despair. The people around her in the stands cheered for the liger that stood opposite her. Deus hadn't earned a name for herself- not yet. In that moment, she was the nameless girl that was about to get devoured for sport. Toto, having grown up in an environment that had been bloodthirsty all along, did not feel ay pity for her. It was her own fault for going out there when she wasn't prepared. It didn't occur to her that she might've been thrust there, unwilling.

That first fight was one where she barely survived. Toto didn't remember how she did it, but at the end of the day, the girl's small frame stood victorious over the beast of an animal. She was bloodied and bruised, white hair matted with sweat and blood, and no smile reached her face. The next time she fought, she won again, and when she stood over the carcass, the people cheered. The third time she fought(and won yet again) she let out a smile, and the people cheered again, though they didn't know what name they should be cheering. When the commentators asked the higher ups, the only response was "you can call her Thing," but that wouldn't suffice, not for the crowds of Reim. She didn't gain a name until a year later, when she began to face off with other gladiators. "Untouchable", they began to call her, but that wasn't entirely true. "One hit" would not be able to hold up in her record either. There would always be scars from her first battles, and that was the shame she carried around with her for another year.

And then, during her second year, a whisper went through the crowd as she walked back into the prison. "God", they whispered. What other being could bring down a beast five times as large as themselves with a single kick? What other being could have such an untainted record? What other being could have such an accusing glare? What other being could bring down the 'giant' of the colosseum?

What they didn't know was the events that occurred earlier that day in prison. She, who had not yet coerced the others to her rule, was still viewed as weak, undeserving. One man, aged twenty-something, had _touched_ her. She could deal with being ostracized(as she had been, ever since the second day she arrived), but that man had touched her roughly, ripped her clothes off, _invaded her privacy_. His name was Goliath, and he had been in the colosseum for four years. He got away with anything(because he was strong, so strong) and the others feared his swordsmanship.

It was a bad decision on his part, because she would face off with him later that day. Goliath was Deus' first human kill in the colosseum. His eyes stared up blankly at the blazing blue sky, arms perpendicular to his body. Throat slit, hands facing the sun, the Giant of the colosseum existed no longer. And yet, even as her hands were covered in blood, the rest of her body was not marred by a single speck of the red substance. Not a hair was out of place, and for the first time ever, she raised a fist in victory as the crowd cheered.

In two short years, Deus had gone from unknown to a god, and Toto felt inadequate next to her. They had to be nearly the same age, but Deus had faced so much more, and survived to become unyielding. Too- she was still growing, still experiencing, she could still be hurt by mortal wounds. But Deus, she had a sort of invincible quality around her, and even though the girl had been beaten by her master, she was not able to look down on her. If they had been born in different circumstances, Toto still had a horrible feeling that Deus would end up excelling. So, Toto clenched her fist and resolved to be stronger.

But a mere human would never have any chance against a demon.

Never had, never will.

* * *

Note that god= Deus

IDK was this chap confusing? It sort of felt all over the place. Is Deus' speech confusing(it probably is, especially for anybody who doesn't speak English as a first language)

Also, expect some profanity. Just overall. I don't kno when it's going to appear, but I'm not going to warn y'all.

lol, updating-Not even gonna try to half-ass an explanation

This will prob be the only story I update for a while. Expect this to be a fifteen chapter fic or so.

Reviews, favorites, and follows are lovely.


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